Whore Song

When I prostituted I murdered my love of song.

I refuse to listen to Motown, ignore Tops of the Pops, and was not my generation hiding in bed hearing John Peel.

The only music in prostitution was played to pretend it was some kind of love story.

Music was poison as it hid the pain, the fear and confusion.

Now, as a gift to my prostituted soul, music is every cell of my body.

I started by finding the music of empty years, the late 70’s and 80’s.

I play disco, mainly focus on Chic and Earth, Wind & Fire.

Disco drag me back into life, back to my rebel soul.

I love disco, for my punters and sex trade profiteers hated that it was just joy and freedom.

Disco was never played in sex clubs, never played by my punters – it was played by everyone they hated, so I loved it.

My background noise in my prostituted years was reggae, lover’s rock, soft soul, soft rock, and lift jazz.

Reggae became my rape music – even now with years between I cannot hear lover’s rock or soft non-political reggae.

Instead I turn to ska, just to confuse the punters to start with – then as two-tone educated me to 60’s ska , with a passion.

My love of ska open me up to Northern Soul, to rare and passionate street corner soul.

As I open up to soul, my childhood memories slowly re-enter my body. My happy memories of Motown.

I was opening up to who I was and who I really am.

I reclaim my passion and inquiring mind into American popular music from 1910’s to 1980’s.

I re-discover the Blues, jazz till 1956, gospel, soul, disco.

I re-discover honky-tonk, I found Cajun music, found Bluegrass and New Country.

I listen to pop of 60’s till 80’s with a open mind and heart.

I found Americana, listen to swing, found Duke Ellington and other classic big band.

I watch musicals from 30’s to early 60’s, with awe at Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, with joy at the 40’s classics.

Music was and is my saviour.

In my heart I hold the words of Cole Porter, the Doors, words of rock ‘n’ roll and street corner soul.

In my heart is the pain of freedom songs, of gospel, of Marvin Gaye crying for a better world, of funk reclaiming justice.

In my heart is the simple joys of 40’s to 60’s girls groups, of comic musicals, of Tom Lehrer and other satire songs.

Music is used and abused by the sex trade.

Used to drown out that is founded on torture and destruction of the prostituted.

Used to pretend there is joy and freedom in the sex trade.

And used to say this is only entertainment, nothing is real.

That is why I learnt to hate music.

So getting back music is liberation.







I am thinking of creating this blog into a collection to be published.

I need help with this.

I need an editor, I need to find a radical feminist publisher.

I want to create a book that is about themes not chronological.

I feel struck and rather lost, so need help.

Please contact if you can help in any way, and do spread the word.


Choked UpI

Recently there been some outrage that men are choking women.

Lets be frank, the outrage is that it is being done women and girls outside the sex trade.

There is no shock or horror when every day and night the prostituted are choked.

Hell, that is just the tip of the iceberg.

The prostituted are anally raped, the prostituted are smothered, the prostituted are waterboarded, the prostituted are gang-raped – and the prostituted are constantly choked.

But that is non-news – that is reframed as part of the job, nothing more nothing less.

But when decent women are choked by men who seemed normal – then we suddenly  care.

I hate all Male violence – but I also hate the hypocrisy of those who say they are against this violence.

For it has become the norm to speak this violence when it done to the non-prostituted females –  while having a deadly silence about the violence in all the sex trade.

This is clear in the lack of recording of deaths of the prostituted – especially when it is murder.

These deaths are made to disappear, these missing women are made of no importance.

Yes, the sex trade is skilled at making the prostituted disappear – but that is partly because they know many view these women and girls are not fully human, so not worth caring about.

All the time we record deaths of women from domestic violence. We give them some dignity and often speak to their lives.

But we allow the sex trade and punters to throw away the prostituted – leaving them nameless, without a life outside the role of the whore, and still condemning them in death.

It is highly likely that more prostituted women and girls are murdered than females in domestic violence.

Where is the outrage? When do you see feminists marching for prostituted women?

If the the murdered prostituted women and girls are remembered, it is too often a footnote to the more important deaths of females.

The prostituted are stripped of their humanity, as they are told not to grieve, not to have fury at wasted lived and public indifference.

One day, all those lost lives will be remembered and somehow the ghosts of the prostituted will force justice for being forgotten.

But back to choking, that is a common thing in most prostitution.

I was choked more times than my mind can hold.

I still, almost 40 to 30 years later, have major issues with my throat. I choke too often, it is my norm.

Choking in prostitution is a game, often bringing the prostitute close to death or knocking her unconscious.

This destroyed parts of her brain, mainly coz of lack of oxygen.

I, for instance, have huge gaps in my memory and still disassociate.

l write this to say there is nothing new about choking women, it is as old as the sex trade.

It will only end when we see the prostituted as fully human, and see violence done to  them as an outrage.


Nothing Will Come of Nothing

To be prostituted is to be in void.

It is nothing happening to no-one.

Our bodies are not allowed to exist.

Our pain is silenced.

Our grief is tossed away.

Even our memory of being human is written over.

To be prostituted is to be no-one.

Our voice is taken over by the sex trade.

Our ability to feel is numbed.

Our sense of hearing is only there to obey.

Our skin is so polluted it become an alien.

To be prostituted is to belong nowhere.

No room can fit us.

No room or space is safe enough for us to scream.

Our screams go to the pain of our bodies we ignore.

Pain that is our only home and remainder

This is not right.

To be prostituted is to have no rights.

No right to have an authentic voice.

No right to know safety.

No right to privacy.

No right to life.

We made nothing, nowhere and no humanity.

So called that sex work.

My Body was Never There

I have major issues with knowing that I exist.

Coming to Devon has help me to cry, to feel, to find that I have a body.

But I find to know my body, a body taken piece by piece by punters, and used to the point of nothingness.

What is a body to tortured, raped and mentally abused prostituted woman?

How does that exited woman makes sense of having that body carrying so much pain and grief?

To get to start the deep trauma of the prostituted we seen this is deep state of dissociation, and it not an easy cure.

Remember deep trauma destroys parts of our brains – destroying connections to ordinary emotions, disrupting the ability to remember, harming the routes to empathy.

Trauma may not curable, but most exited women have multiple ways of making smaller and less important in their day to day life.

But without full justice, a sense of complete safety and a route back to humanity, the exited women will always have deep trauma as a shadow.

When we speak to bravery, then we must say all prostituted women are great heroes, whether seeming to on the edge of death, whether appearing to a happy hooker, or whether she has been lucky enough to exit.

All prostituted are Warriors, as they carry wounds and memories of hate and male violence that most women cannot imagine.

These wounds and memories are in the body, screaming, raging and crying to be let out.

No wonder the prostituted are dissociated from know that body belong to them.

Also, our body was never allow to become to us.

Our bodies were sold, were used, were exposed to hate, were seen as meat, was raped beyond thinking, were consumed by endless men.

To survive that, most of the prostituted have think so hard that they have no body.

Maybe if not too traumatised, some may think they are a floating brain.

More likely, to survive the prostitute will become the parts of the body that can sold and used.

To say we become three holes and hands is sick, but in prostitution is sadly true.

See that it is those holes and hands that the gold dust of the endless profits for the sex trade.

Most if not all punters want no human, just parts of her body he can screw, he can manipulate, he can bash around, he can strangle, he push objects up and in.

The vast majority of punters to destroy the bodies of the prostituted- the prostitute will thrown away after consumption.

See with a clear eye that every moment of every the prostituted are made the disappeared – some to suicide, some me to more brutal part of the sex trade, some murdered, some so ill from male violence that they become shadow people.

All exited women carry the hurt and grief of knowing too many of the disappeared, it is in our bodies, for our words are ignored as overkill.

Imagine the sickness, the pain and the terrors that is the body of an exited woman.

Imagine how tired that body is to carry.

Imagine carrying so many rapes that the brain shut down – see it is so many rapes that counting brings despair.

It is not two or three different rapists – for so many exited women were raped by hundreds if not thousand of punters.

Think hard that all punters are paying to rape, so each time a man make the choice to consume a prostitute he is paying to dismiss her access to consent and her right to physical, mental and sexual safety.

That is what prostitution is.

And that is just the tip of the iceberg, for it rare a punter pays to do missionary or so-called vanilla – no punters pays to degrade, pay to be sadistic and pay to do the prostituted what would be wrong to do the good women.

Prostitution is violence – there is no form of prostitution that can be made safe even if wrapped in pink wrapping.

So the body of the prostituted is full of scars, seen and unseen.

The prostituted carried injuring from beatings, injuries as their anus and vagina are rubbed, ripped at and pounded at, head injuries as punters hit and strangle, stomach issues from fear and the poison of male hate.

Exited women carry internal and external injuries that may be there for a lifetime.

But we are warriors for we go forward, we believe life is good, we fight so no woman or girl has to carry these wounds.

That is true bravery.





One Bad Apple

The progressive media is suddenly concerned about underaged prostituted women.

This is the same media that preaches sex work, the same media that say underaged prostitute, the same media that claims prostitution should be decimalised.

But heck, Epstein is connected to Trump and the GOP, so wow it is an issue for this media.

This is not prostituted women and girls, this is internal Washington politics and corruption, spread to New York and beyond.

I would love to believe this may a kickstart to real change, but instead it just one bad man to hate and let’s ignore the structure of the sex trade.

Epstein is not rare – rather his form of grooming and exploiting for profit is common in most Western countries.

My personal story is too similar – so similar that my trauma is eating at my heart, making me sick and therefore rather knackered and cynical.

I would say it is common that many adult prostituted women enter when were underaged – maybe the majority.

To be recruited by another girl is common practice in the sex trade – sex trade profiteers love to stay hidden and find a scapegoat.

It is very likely these recruiters were owned by the profiteers, so under their, mental, physical and sexual control.

Many had been prostituted, left with trauma and still in the brainwashed state.

They are victims, not criminals.

I was recruited by girl who was 14, as I was.

She was highly damaged and had lost all empathy, as she she saw little point to life.

We were both puppets for profits.

I am sickened with memory of prostitution.

I am sickened that rich entitled men from many backgrounds are finally being seen.

Sickened at how selective the progressive media is in which rich men they will show to be punters.

Basically it is always the men we already hate, and our allies are made to disappear.

Well, I was torture and raped by many rich of all political stripes, some I would agree with, some I was indifferent to their politics and some who I thought were politically wrong.

They were all entitled and arrogant.

They all made me subhuman.

When in hell, you forget about politics.

See that all punters are paying to rape and torture, don’t be selective to fit in with your lifestyle.

Or just admit you forget the prostituted when Epstein is no longer the focus.



Thoughts from My Spirit

I am not religious, but I believe in metaphors to understand who and what I am.

I reach into my Self, and nine aspects or spirit forms.

They may be ways to dig deep and know the unknowable.

They may be real or part of my unconscious mind unpacking pain, grief and the fight  for justice.

I don’t know if it matters, for it part of healing and road to being fully alive


The baby is attempting to be happy despite neglect, being cold and sense of fear.

The baby wants to pleases, need to play – but has to do that alone.

The baby learns to stop crying, stop noise – in silence she may disappear.

Always without reason, the baby spirit want to believes in joy and hope.

The baby stay in her cot and then nothing matters.


The little girl is still wanting to play – but rage gets in the way.

Rage coz there is pain in between her legs.

Rage coz her mum is not listening, not interested in her existence.

Rage that her stepdad is still alive and still wanting her alone.

Rage that she knows no-one sees he is bad, that he should in prison or shot like a dog.

The little girl wants to like normal girls.

But always headaches, sick stomach, that pain in places without language gets in the way.

The headaches makes want death.

Death become her only friend, death seems so comforting.

The little girl starts running away, starts cutting, starts smoking and drinking.

She imagine she is tough – not scared, not hurting, certainly no victim.

She has the heart of a street child – reckless, going straight to danger, whilst always terrified and not knowing how to exist.

And always the little girl just wants to be happy.


The mermaid is the little girl’s friend.

The mermaid exist for she is the children that could live in a world of adult hate and violence.

The mermaid did not survive abuse, and now choosing to never know that life.

Her world is where no adults are allow, where no memories of them is let in.

It is playing, dressing up, dancing, playing records, watching TV – anything that closes out reality.

The mermaid will brush her hair with her mirror whenever emotions come too near.

Only no dancing, no swimming away, no music, no playing can stop grief, or the body memories.

The mermaid is broken, crying into water seems so pointless.


Speaking of grief, the dragon holds all that pain, grief and shock tightly in her cave.

The dragon hides in that cave, afraid to show her Self to the world.

The dragon has learnt through centuries of pain and ignorance, that her existence is never believed.

The dragon is wise – but knows all her knowledge will be dismissed.

So hidden in her cave, she see the violence and hate that men pours out on females.

She sees child abuse, she sees rape, she see domestic violence – and at the centre of all thatvhate and violence she see the sex trade poisoning the whole world.

The dragon howls, the dragon pours fire on fields – all that empty fury and grief goes unseen, unheard.

For men write history, and have long ago written out the truths of the dragon.


The teenager is refusing to remember that she is a human, she exists only air goes into her lungs.

The teenager is nothing outside the eyes of punters.

She exists to be hurt, she exists to please violent men.

The teenager sees hope and dignity as a train crashing into her.

The teenager decides she will be a Whore, for she has no worth, no wish to live, she is their sexual doll.

Only, deep in the teenager is wanting more, a secret whispering in her heart –

There is more to life than this hell, fight teenager fight to stay alive.

The teenager is raped close to death, she is destroy by porn dreams of endless punters.

But somehow she keeps living.

The teenager is placed into too many gang rapes, too many anal raping, too much deep throating, too many ways to torture every cell of her body.

But somehow she keeps living.

Somehow, she keeps private parts of her Self that no punter, no porn dreams can ever reach or destroy.

I would say my teenager is the bravest person I ever known.


The snake hold memories of what words cannot express.

The snake reach to visual art, to music, to dance, to a howling to say what we have no words for.

The snake knows beauty is vulnerable, that innocence is easily broken, that hope seems too far away.

So the snakes wraps her body round these treasures, keeping them safe and secret.


The horse always wants freedom, often running away to find it.

The horse is a loner, but on occasions want to be sociable.

The horse will never be fence in – all labels are refused for limiting her existence.

Her motto is – any club that wants me as a member, I don’t want to belong to.

The horse always sees beyond now and imagine it must be better anywhere but here.


The tiger is strong, the tiger is playful, the tiger is young.

The tiger is looking for a mother to love her unconditionally.

Only the mother rejects the tiger.

The tiger wanders through with a gap in her existence – so she plays harder, roars deeper to pretence it does not effect her.


The eagle is a clear sighted holder of truths.

The eagle sse who is the cause of all that pain, all the trauma.

The eagle sees punters, sees my stepdad, sees those who made money from my pain.

The eagle see it is male sexual greed, male hate, male need to dominate that is destroying the world.

The eagle will not see excuses, justifications,women-blaming in her eye-line for they are not her target.

For to destroy the sex trade, there must a clear understanding that the demand and supply are her prey.

The eagle knows to create abolition you only see the rabbit not the field.


I hope this gives you some insight.